life had she been deferred to by such
a charming youth, never had her little budget of small talk received
such respectful consideration, never had she been waited on, hand and
foot, by such a cavalier!

Rarely did Justin's eyes stray to where Bettina sat beside the captain,
chatting to him in her confiding voice, making his old heart happy by
her interest in his sea-seasoned reminiscences.

It was really a most altruistic performance. One might have imagined
that for Justin there was just one woman in the world--Miss Matthews;
and for Bettina, just one man--Captain Stubbs. Yet, as the little boat
rounded the lighthouse point and came into the rougher waters outside,
young hearts were thrilling to the sound of young voices, and the music
of the spheres was being played to the accompaniment of beating waves.

When at last they anchored, the fishing was really incidental. To be
sure it was exciting, and they had an excellent catch, but Bettina's hat
was off and Justin could see her hair. And Justin, standing up in the
bow of the boat with his line outflung, was, in Bettina's eyes, more
than ever like a young Olympian god.

It was the same at lunch time. They landed on a crescent-shaped strip of
beach, backed by rocky walls, where there was plenty of driftwood for
their fire. There the captain gave his mind to the making of chowder,
and Miss Matthews rendered expert service in the cutting up of onions
and potatoes, and in the frying of salt pork.

Justin opened the pickle bottle and did other prosaic and ungodlike
acts, and Bettina laid the table on the sands like a real girl instead
of a transported nymph, yet each saw the other through a golden haze
which magnified the most trivial act and made it important.

Thus, when Bettina set four blue bowls at exact geometric distances on
the cloth, Justin thought not of the bowls, but of Bettina's slim white
hands; and likewise Justin, gathering driftwood, commended himself to
Bettina not for his industry, but for his swinging walk and square
shoulders.

For several days Bettina had been heavy-hearted. She had not seen
Anthony. He had called her up over the telephone, and had made his
excuses; there was the little girl with the appendicitis and the old man
with the pneumonia--how Bettina hated the repetition. He would come and
see her as soon as possible, he promised, but he had not come.

Diana, too, had not been like herself. On the morning after Bettina's
visit to An